Jar of Hearts
by Elisa Miller
Summary: Steve tries to apologize to Tony for all the hurt he has caused since that day with Bucky. Tony tries to tell him he doesn't want to do this right now, but when has Steve ever listened? The emotional unloading that follows and verbal attacks meant to kill, not wound, are just to be expected at that point.


"Tony-"

"No, Cap. Not today," Tony responded, rubbing his hand down his face, as if he could physically wipe away the exhaustion etched so clearly on his face.

"But Tony, it's been years since-"

"Yeah, it has. So let's just leave it at that, huh? You seemed pretty keen to be rid of all of it before, so just- there you go. Consider it rid. Easy peasy." Tony knew his voice was none too friendly, but he had years to catch up on here.

"Tony, would you just-"

"No. I won't just, Steve. I won't just anything. You made your choice. Very clearly, if I recall. It was a no brainer, it was just always gonna be him, wasn't it? So what were you doing with me then? Huh, Cap? Did the ice really freeze your soul too?"

Now that it was coming out, there was no controlling what fell from his tongue.

"You made those choices, to be with me, Cap. You kissed me. You slept with me. You did the domestic thing, the partners in crime-fighting thing, the fluffy practically married crap. You did all that with me. And you knew it was me, right? Or was that the issue? Too many brunettes in your life to keep track of?"

Oh, this was going nowhere good…

"Aunt Peggy's hair was a little longer, wasn't it? Paler skin too. Thought an artist such as yourself would pick up on the little things like that. Maybe confusing her with Bucky, now that is understandable. Except, his hair wasn't that long back then. At least, according to all the stories Howard had memorized from his favorite sacred text: Captain America: Howard Stark's Gift to Mankind!"

Steve's face had gone from red to pale and back again already but Tony could tell he was just getting warmed up.

"Oh! I get it! Is that why? I looked enough like the Bucky from your memories to get you off? Older, obviously. I have none of the boyish charm left that I'm sure Barnes had in droves. But the hair? That was close enough, right? Especially from the back probably. Similar build, just a bit smaller. But that's okay, you probably hadn't gotten all that used to being the same size as him, that could be reasoned away easily enough."

Steve looked horrified at the turn this conversation had taken. In all honesty, part of Tony's brain wanted to give Steve the benefit of the doubt. He seemed to have come back with an honest intention to repair the damages.

But the part of Tony that had been shattered when he had been left, wounded and alone, to deal with the physical damage that healed far faster than the emotional trauma, wanted blood. He wasn't doing this for the fun of it. He wanted the other man as far away from him as humanly possible.

Maybe further, considering one of them was a super human.

"Barnes was gorgeous, wasn't he? That's how all the ladies in Howard's stories felt. What they all said in those interviews they did about you guys. Was that it? All it takes is some certain level of attractiveness, some dark hair, and close enough?" Tony hadn't meant to start this here, now, but apparently there was no time like the present.

"Did I fill his spot at all, or was that why you so desperately needed to find him? Couldn't wait to be done having to pretend. Must've been exhausting, day in, day out, never being honest about who you wanted. Trying to keep our names straight in bed. Who was it sucking your dick the night before all this started, Steve? Was it me? Or was it him?"

Steve, having settled on pale, must have seen something in Tony's face that let on how hurt he truly was, because at that he stepped forward, away from the corner Tony had slowly been backing him into.

"You, Tony." He held up his hands, like he was surrendering to Tony. "It was never like that between us. You know how I felt about you, Tony. You. You still do."

Tony looked at him blankly, the emotion he had been raging with suddenly deserting him.

Steve took another step forward, taking the fact Tony hadn't backed away as a small victory. "I loved you then, and I love you now, Tony."

He seemed to be taking every opportunity to use Tony's name. It didn't matter, Tony wasn't buying it.

"You are amazing. You're smart, you're gorgeous, you're funny. You challenge me. You aren't even slightly impressed by me. You have flaws, but hell, even your flaws are perfect." No, Tony didn't want to hear this. It was all too familiar, this speech.

"You never believed me, before. You wanted to, but you never could. I had you so close to trusting me, to seeing yourself even a fraction of the way I see you, to believing that I meant every damned word of it." Steve continued his gentle stalking forward, seeming terrified of spooking Tony, whether with his words or his movements.

"I ruined it. That day, with Bucky. I see that now. Hell, I saw it then. But you know me. I'm too damned stubborn, too hot headed when it comes to these things. I stick to my guns. ...even if they are wrong." Steve breaks eye contact for the first time, looking down, ashamed, then immediately back up.

"I was wrong, Tony. I try to protect everyone, all the time. But that's doesn't excuse any of it. I was wrong. I know I can't take it back." Another step forward. "I know it'll never be the same." Another. "And I know I have no right to ask you to even consider forgiving me." One more step.

"I have been miserable every day since that day. Even when I'm not agonizing over all I've done to hurt you, I find things I want to talk to you about, to show you. And it all starts over again." A final step puts them within arms length of each other. Steve lowers his arms, holding one hand out palm up.

"Will you please consider, not forgiving me, but at least letting me try to begin to make some part of this up to you?" He has that look again. Looking up at Tony through his eyelashes, even though Steve is taller, making himself seem smaller than he is, as if he wants to shrink back in on himself and is holding himself there through sheer force of will.

Tony isn't sure what to do with all of this. His earlier tirade has left him numb again.

He had been numb when Steve first left. The cold that had permeated the base that day, had invaded his suit, and further, his mind suddenly susceptible as it ingrained itself on his skin, in his bones, enough he couldn't feel the pain of his injuries, couldn't feel the beating of his heart.

If it had continued beating.

He was a man of science, so logically he knew it had indeed continued pumping blood through his body. But he was also a man who had fought most of his life just to discover that he had a heart, one that functioned and could love another person. One that could receive love as well, hell one that deserved love.

And the final push into him believing that fact had been Steve. Steve, who had been adamant about bedtimes, and limiting coffee, and time in the lab because it wasn't healthy for him. But not in a pushy way. In a way that said he was listening to Tony, and truly cared about what he was doing, the science part as well as the personal parts.

The parts that needed constant validation, that needed proof he was good enough. Even seemed to understand that sometimes that meant he needed to make something work. Needed to work for as long as he could, physically exhausting himself, pushing his brain to its very limits, to get results that would say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he was worth something.

Because he had always had to prove that. His father paid attention. When he had something that was useful to the company, that is. His mother had paid attention. When he was doing well at their social events, she paid him compliments. Sometimes. Although when he wasn't doing well, she paid more attention.

She would tell him she knew he was all of the things that he was. Smart, handsome, sweet, charming. Sometimes it was nice to not have to be those things, and just be reminded that he could be when he wanted to be.

Even if it was in a scolding tone. She cared, really. He just wanted her to appreciate, sometimes, that it wasn't without sacrifices. He could be the perfect gentleman. Of course he could. He had been raised to be that way. But at the cost of being who he actually was.

So he had honed his public persona, a mixture of what his father needed him to be, and what his mother expected him to be. And thus Tony Stark was born.

And Steve had seemed to understand how those pieces of him. Maybe it was the memories leftover from being a hero in the body of a sickly orphan, too small and frail to hold all the energy and do-gooding that was an inherent part of Steve Rogers.

He had somehow known what it took. The gentle coaxing to eat, because then he'd last longer in the lab. To sleep, because then his eye's wouldn't be fighting to stay open and missing integral observations when testing new parts, new tech. To socialize when he had been too isolated for too long, because other people's perspectives could mean the difference between inventor's block and technological breakthrough.

Whatever the issue, the strategic genius that was Steve Rogers had a way around it. And it all made sense to Tony. And then he just stopped questioning the reasoning behind it, because it was all sound logic.

And then he started wanting to listen to it. Because it was easy. He hadn't been taken care of in literal decades. Unless you count Stane, but even before Afghanistan, Tony had known he was just the prize stallion, so he was under no illusions why Stane tried to care for him.

But Steve, he gained very little from the whole arrangement. New bits of tech here and there, but as a man from the 40s, that wasn't all the appealing anyway.

So Tony had grown used to it. The gentleness, the companionship offered by Steve's blatant interest in what he was doing, what he was building, what he could accomplish, using simply his brain and own two hands.

And it had felt good. He didn't need to do anything to impress Steve. He just, was. He didn't need to fight for Steve's approval, he just had it. He didn't need to do things, or accomplish things to get Steve's attention. He gave it willingly.

Which was great when the feelings made themselves known.

Chances are they had always been there. Things like that had a tendency of remaining hidden from Tony. At least until they felt safe enough to reveal themselves.

Having such a bond form between himself and Steve had given them permission to come forward apparently.

One day when Steve had been visiting him in the lab, he had something smeared on his face that Steve decided he should to clean off himself because he knew damned well that Tony would fall straight to sleep as soon as his face hit the pillow.

So, using a clean rag that he had dampened in the sink in the corner, he had leaned an arm against the desk Tony was seated at, and spun his chair slightly to get the right angle. Using his free hand he brought the rag up to his hairline, where the streak originated, and swiped the cloth down along Tony's cheekbone.

He repeated the motion several times, watching the streak, of what was probably grease of some sort, lighten with every pass. Tony smirked, commenting, "Wow, Captain America, being a regular mom."

Steve had paused his movements, looking Tony in the eye. That shy little smile, the one where he had to look up through his lashes just a bit, did him in. They'd done their fair share of flirting, or Tony had. Steve had done his fair share of blushing, although Tony had caught quite a few looks of longing, cringy as that particular stereotype is.

"Give all the boys this treatment?" Tony had felt the need to sass before the moment got out of his control.

He added a bit of an eyebrow waggle just to ensure the reaction from Steve.

But the familiar rush of red never came. Instead, Steve took a breath, as though he couldn't get quite enough oxygen into his lungs through his nose. On the exhale, he replied, "Just the gorgeous ones who need taken care of." The husky tone to his voice was one Tony couldn't have dreamed up in a million years.

Still locked on each others eyes, the feeling in the room shifted. No longer the easy banter, back-and-forth friendship. This was tension, the good kind, the sexual kind that Tony half expected Steve to be above.

Judging by the heat in his gaze, Tony was very wrong.

Slowly, imperceptibly, they drew closer. Neither could tell who finally sealed the deal, because suddenly their lips brushed together. It almost startled Tony, especially the intensity of it. The most innocent kiss he'd shared with anyone outside of family, and it was the most intoxicating feeling he'd ever known.

Steve pulled away a fraction of an inch, just enough to look him in the eye, before they moved as one back in, slotting them together firmly, chest to chest, Tony's arms moving, one to rest around Steve's neck the other around his waist, running up his back to settle between his shoulder blades.

Steve laid a palm on Tony's hip and brought the other up to press lightly against Tony's face, changing the angle of their kiss just slightly, to meld their lips together more securely.

It didn't go very far. There was a simmering feeling of wanting more, but it was far enough away that it wasn't a pressing need.

Instead, they clung to each other, the kiss deep and meaningful in ways a first kiss has no right being. Especially given such a charged atmosphere as the one they had created.

When they finally parted, both were breathless. Partially from passion, partially from avoiding breaking the kiss for air, for longer than was advisable.

It had always been one of Tony's cherished memories. He had never imagined there would come a day when he wished he could forget it ever happened...

He simply stared at Steve's still offered palm, no idea what he was going to do with it.


End file.
